


Lost Boys

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Growth, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fenris-centric, Friendship, Gen, Glowbang 2016, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: When Hawke goes missing in the Fade, Fenris is determined to find his dearest friend. But he may need to find a few other lost people before he can bring Hawke home.For the 2016 Glowbang.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The story was inspired by sp3llw0rk's Spotify playlist, entitled [GlowBang](https://play.spotify.com/user/12133271853/playlist/38HtCryaMHpitOnRJFu4RC).

“Remember to water the plants in the backyard in the morning or after the sun goes down.” Fenris said firmly. “One or the other. Not both. There is a stray cat with a litter of kittens who lives in the pantry. They eat the mice, but prefer nug ham. The rooms on the bottom floor are open to you, and you may drink any of the wine stored on the left side of the cellar. Do not enter my room unless it is an emergency.” 

“Fenris.” 

“Do not open the door to strangers after the sun goes down. The people believe the mansion is haunted, but there is always the petty thief with more bravado than common sense.” 

“Fenris.” 

“Aveline and Donnic will patrol the area more frequently. There are more slavers running operations on the coast since Sebastian threatened to annex Kirkwall. Do not go out alone after dark.” 

“Fenris, I am not a child.” Merrill said soothingly. “I will be fine.” 

Fenris sighed and adjusted the straps of his pack so the weight rested on his hips. His ship would sail out of Kirkwall for Amaranthine soon, and he would have to leave this place. Leave his home. He may have stolen it, he may have let the building rot around his ears as he drank his reclaimed wine and read through his correspondence. Slowly, so slow he had not realized when it began, Kirkwall had become more than a dirty city where he could hide in the shadows and grime and form a life of his own. Kirkwall, with all its filth and chaos, had become his _home_. And now he had to leave. 

”Very well. Goodbye, Merrill.” Fenris said abruptly, straightening his back. Merrill, small and pale as a moonflower clinging on the vine, smiled and hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder as if her touch could comfort him. But Fenris shrunk away from her tiny fingers with the dotted scars that whirled in elaborate patterns from her fingertips to her palm. Merrill did not chase him. 

”May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent, Fenris.” Merrill said instead, and Fenris accepted that farewell with as much grace as he could, inclining his head towards Merrill before he left the mansion. A few strands of pale hair escaped the high pony tail he tied his hair up in, and Fenris redid it into a topknot as he walked down the steps from Hightown to Lowtown. It would not be forever, Fenris told himself, but he rested his hand on the pouch on his belt and knew that he could never go back home. Never again. 

Aveline and Donnic were waiting by the docks when Fenris finally arrived. His ship would leave soon, and he could not linger long. not even to bid his friends a fond farewell. 

”Thank you for all your reports on the slavers on the coast, Fenris.” Aveline told him. “We will double our patrols in the designated areas.” 

”I am leading a group of guards to investigate the businesses that you say have been trafficking in slaves.” Donnic added. “With any luck we’ll manage to root them out in short order.” 

”I am glad I could be of assistance.” Fenris replied. “Take care of yourselves, Aveline. Donnic.” He shook Donnic’s hand, then Aveline’s. Both handshakes were brisk and businesslike, but there was a warmth and firmness that let Fenris know that he was valued beyond the information he provided. They were friends, and even though Hawke wasn’t there, their friendship endured. 

”And you as well, Fenris.” Donnic said softly. Fenris pulled away and was ready to approach his ship when Aveline stopped him with a gesture, a simple lift of her hand. Fenris stopped. 

”Fenris.” Aveline’s voice was firm. 

”Yes?” 

”Bring him home.” Fenris nodded curtly and turned to board the ship to Amaranthine. He would do whatever he must to come to the truth. 

Fenris would do everything to bring Hawke home. 

-

Fenris’s first impression of Kirkwall was of its stone roads. He slunk into the city in the dead of night, hanging upside down underneath the bed of a cloth merchant’s wagon. It was a bumpy, unpleasant voyage, but his discomfort bought him more time to hide from Danarius’s spies. With his head hanging low and a ragged cloak on his back, Fenris looked much like any other mercenary in the city- unwashed and anonymous. 

He spent his first night in Kirkwall sleeping behind crates in the dockyards, his nose filled with the smell of fish. Fenris slept for an hour, woke, and moved to another location in the dockyards. Always keep moving, he told himself. He could not be caught if he could not be found. 

He lingered in taverns and inns along the dockyards, listening for every bare scrap of information that could be gleaned from the loose lips of a drunkard’s mouth. The hunters hunted for him again, so Fenris moved to other spots in the city to hide. First there was the abandoned house in the Alienage, filled with mice and dust. The sewers kept him hidden from the world, though Fenris found no rest there. Stranger still were the boltholes already in place throughout the city, small spaces with scant supplies prepared for whatever fugitive had need for them. Fenris used a few when he was desperate and took some of the supplies left there. A hunk of stale bread served better in his belly than lying forgotten on a shelf. 

Danarius’s minions crafted a trap for him. He heard rumors of it on the lips of street urchins and in the mouths of dock workers- Tevinter treasure, very rare, valuable to a powerful Magister, all located within the Alienage. It was an obvious trap, a terrible lure, but a powerful one. Danarius knew what Fenris was hungry for, how desperate he was for information. For truth. How Fenris would hunt for clues as Danarius hunted for his precious prized pet. 

Fenris glowered at the stone wall of his latest bolthole, an old root cellar accessible through the sewers. Whoever was here before had left a small jug of mead, a hunk of cheese, and salted pork. Fenris garnished the feast with a loaf of stollen bread and ate like a king. King of Nugs, he thought wryly as he fed the crumbs to the rodents scurrying below his feet. But better to be a king of the nugs than to be a slave to a magister. 

-

Fenris monitored Danarius’s trap for several days. He watched the mercenaries rotate their men in several guard shifts. Danarius was clever. Fenris could begrudgingly give the man that much credit. In the daytime there were only one or two of the mercenaries sulking around the Alienage, but at night it seemed that the entire crew was present and on high alert. They knew Fenris would only risk going after them at night. They seemed to know what they were facing, which was more than the other groups Danarius sent after him. Either they were learning from their predecessor's mistakes, or Danarius was taking a more personal interest in retrieving his lost property. Fenris feared it was the later. He nearly had it confirmed when he heard rumors of a magister visiting Kirkwall and staying in one of the mansions in Hightown. 

Fenris toyed with the idea of slowly taking the mercenaries one by one. Slay the small groups during the day until he had crippled them enough that he could take the rest of them down. He could slowly wear Danarius and his cronies down by depleting their numbers and disappearing into the streets. But that would mean repeating the same pattern over and over until all the mercenaries were eliminated. It would invite more risk, with more witnesses to the killings. Patterns meant that Fenris would be easier to catch. 

He could not be caught. Not when freedom was so close at hand. 

What he needed was another plan. If he could not take the guards on his own, Fenris realized, he would need help from others. He had coin. Stolen coin to be sure, but the coin was still good enough to buy his own crew to take down Danarius’s thugs. But mercs were not always trustworthy. They were not always discreet. If he hired them, there was no guarantee they would keep their silence and let Fenris go when Danarius came for information. He would have to go through someone else. He needed to find an agent. 

Fenris quite literally stumbled upon Anso the next day. The dwarf had only recently come to the surface, and was frightened by the immense sky overhead, the open spaces in the city, the breezes and salt of the sea on the air. Anso was easy to hire, desperate for coin to make the journey back to Orzammar. And he was afraid of him. It was an easy thing to convince Anso to hire a crew to “recover” a stolen lyrium shipment. All he had to do was watch and wait. Fenris hid in the Alienage. As the sun set over the buildings, Danarius’s mercenaries took their places around the courtyard and watched the door of the abandoned building, the one with Danarius’s package. It was a trap, Fenris knew it was a trap, but part of him hoped that it held a clue, some item that would gift him with a clue to his past. 

Anso’s hired help arrived in the form of a giant of a man, a well dressed dwarf, a guardswoman, and a ragbag scarecrow mage. He was skeptical of Anso’s selection in mercenaries, but the group quickly dispatched Danarius’s men with little trouble. The big man and the ragbag were mages, which Fenris tried to ignore. He hired them for a job, nothing more. Mages needed coin as much as anyone else. He emerged from hiding to confront the people he hired and request their help. He hoped that the promise of more coin would encourage them to assist him in his hunt for Danarius. 

It did. Fenris soon realized that the large man, Hawke, was unlike any mage he ever met. He was loud and excitable, so easy going and cheerful and completely different from the mages in Tevinter. Hawke smiled, the cheeky grins and bright cheer in his eyes coming to his handsome bearded face with no studied practice or hidden malice. Hawke talked and teased his companions, and he drew Fenris into his circle of acquaintances with such ease that Fenris found himself sharing in conversation and laughter. Hawke acted as if assisting a fugitive slave was a normal part of his routine, as if he found it _fun_. And even as Hawke helped Fenris clear out Danarius’s mansion of demons with the dwarf and the rag-bag, he was charming his companions and laughing at the world. 

Hawke treated Fenris with a kindness that he had not experienced since he started running. Fenris felt hope, a foreign, fluttering feeling, linger at the base of his throat. And beyond that he felt an overwhelming sense of relief flood his body. For once in his life, there was someone there to guard his back and keep him safe. 

For once in his life, Fenris would not face his enemies alone. 

-

Alone, Fenris thought as he leaned against the railing of the ship. The salty spray stung his eyes and the wind bit at his face. He was alone again, as alone as he was when he first came to Kirkwall. But it was different now. He was stronger, more certain, and the specter of Danarius could no longer hunt him like hunting dogs chased a fox. This time Fenris was not aimlessly fleeing from ghosts. He was searching for answers. Fenris reached into his pouch and pulled out the letter that sent him out on this quest in the first place. 

The parchment was soft, the creases worn from constant reading and re-reading. The paper was stained with tear marks. It had always been stained with tears, even before Fenris read its brief contents. The penmanship was messy, lacking the usual flourishes that marked Varric’s hand. But it was unmistakably Varric’s hand that wrote the letter. Fenris looked at the words again, but he had long since memorized them. Reading them made Fenris feel more lost than he ever was in his entire life. 

-

 _Fenris,_

_Hawke is gone. He fell into the Fade at Adamant and didn’t come back._

_I’m sorry. I’ve written to the others. Take care of yourself._

_Varric_

-

Adamant was far away, Fenris thought as he watched the sea. But Skyhold was on the way. Skyhold was the base of the Inquisition. Hawke went to the Inquisition to help them hunt Corypheus. He said he felt responsible for it. For him. Fenris had been bitter when Hawke left. He was angry and upset, and said words that could not be taken back. And now Hawke was gone. 

It was hard to believe. Hawke was so lively, so strong, so vibrant and loud and larger than life, and he always, _always_ came back. What could have possibly killed him now? 

But Hawke was just a man, when it came down to it. And all men must die. 

-

Fenris disembarked at Amaranthine and bought a horse, a stocky, hardworking horse with a black coat and a temper to match that could bear the voyage up the mountains. He charted as direct a route as possible to Skyhold, traveling with merchant caravans and the ever growing throng of Chantry supplicants journeying to Skyhold and the Inquisition. Traveling in a group on the main roads meant trading certain hazards for others. There was less of a chance of getting caught up in mage and Templar fighting, and the demons seemed to avoid the main roads. Too many people, Fenris guessed. Even their twisted minds knew when and where to keep away. 

But there were bandits to contend with, slavers to hunt down, and the occasional bear attack to beat back. Fenris had never seen a bear in the flesh before, but after fighting one off with the assistance of the spice merchant’s hired hands he found had no desire to seek a bear out again. Even on the main roads, where order was clearly maintained, Fenris saw signs of all the chaos. He saw the mess that remained. 

The mess Hawke wanted to help clean up. 

Hawke was forever fixing what was broken, cleaning up after _him_ , and it made Fenris ache. Hawke would never know a moment’s peace because of his associations. He would never be able to rest. But even Fenris could see that the chaos was not the handiwork of one mage. No one mage could cause all this suffering and madness. It was just easier, more convenient, to blame Anders for everything that had gone wrong. 

Anders. Fenris tried not to dwell on his memories of Anders. They were painful and confusing. The man was a frustrating enigma- mad, terribly lost to his demon, but at times terribly kind and whimsical. Isabela once told him that Anders was not always as harsh and strange as he was when Fenris knew him. She claimed the man she knew was a darling. A little vain and saucy, an absolute coquette, but still earnest and kind when it counted. Hawke told Fenris it was much the same. 

-

”He’s not evil, you know.” Hawke said before he left Kirkwall for the last time. He and Fenris were sharing a quick lunch on Hawke’s terrace. The sun was warm on Fenris’s back, and the breeze carried the cries of gulls and the scent of the sea. Orana set out sandwiches and lemonade for them to eat, and they sat and watched the people of Hightown wander about on their day to day business. 

”I am not the man you need to convince, Hawke. I do not have an army prepared to swoop down on the city.” Fenris said lightly. Hawke sighed and shook his great, shaggy head. There were streaks of silver in that dark hair, thin threads that were not present when they first met. Kirkwall had taken its toll on Hawke. Fenris felt the urge to reach out, to sweep the hair as dark as a raven’s wing back from Hawke’s face, to give Hawke the attention and care he so deserved. 

Fenris kept his hands to himself. 

”I know, Fenris.” Hawke had sighed then, a sound that came from the soul. “It hurts, though. So many people act like they knew him. They never tried to understand. Anders is just a man.” 

”You are too lenient. With all of us.” Fenris clarified when Hawke gave him a sharp look. “You forgive your friends too easily.” 

”There’s more to him than the Chantry explosion. Just like there’s more to Isabela than the Qunari attack and more to you than ripping out the hearts of your enemies.” Hawke replied. He grinned then, all easy humor and cheer. “See, you giggle after it’s done.” 

Fenris chuckled at the remark and let Hawke lead the conversation to lighter subjects. Perhaps they disagreed over mages and magic, but Hawke was a good man who saw the best in everyone. Fenris knew he could trust him. 

-

Now, standing at the entrance of yet another burnt village ravaged by rogue Templars and mages, Fenris saw what Hawke meant. Anders did wrong, but his crime did not explain away or justify the madness he encountered. The fighting and killing had been going on long before Anders and his demon blew up Kirkwall. 

Fenris road his horse up the treacherous slopes of the Frostback mountains, spending the nights at scouting outposts and near caravan camps. It was safer to travel in a group. Slower, yes, but safer. Fenris would do Hawke no favors if he got himself killed. But he traveled as quickly as he could, pushing himself and his mount hard until they finally crested a mountain and there it was. Skyhold. The sturdy fortress nestled in the middle of craggy mountains. It was an ideal place to build a stronghold. Hawke would have been _safe_ here, if he had just stayed put. 

But Fenris knew that Hawkes always flew. It was what made them Hawkes. 

He rode across the stone bridge of the fortress, only stopping to speak with the guards. The Inquisition was heavily armed and extremely wary, and the guards looked at Fenris with some apprehension until he mentioned that he was there to speak with Varric. Then a guard summoned a runner, and the runner ferried a message inside. Minutes later he was ushered into the fortress and led to the stables. 

”If you would wait here for a moment, Messere Tethras should be out to see you, Messere?” The messenger drew out the word “Messere” until it became a question. 

”Fenris.” He said shortly after he dismounted his horse. “Thank you for your assistance.” 

The messenger left him alone, and Fenris quietly tended to his horse. Horses had needs, and his mount had worked hard to bring him here. He rubbed down his dark flanks with a cloth, taking his time with grooming him. Fenris made sure his feed bag was filled with oats and hay. He would see the stable master and pay for the feed later, before he left to continue his search. 

”Rest now.” Fenris told the horse. “Rest and recover.” 

”You always were a big softy deep down, elf.” A warm, husky, achingly familiar voice filled the stables. It was like finding a piece of home in an unfamiliar land. Fenris felt his lips twitch into a brief, small smile as he turned around to greet the speaker. 

”Good to see you again, Fenris. I knew you’d come.” Varric greeted him, his arms outstretched in a warm welcome. 

-

”You came here a lot quicker than I thought you would.” Varric said. They were inside the main building of the fortress, in a small room off to the side of the main hall. Fenris saw that Varric’s quarters had all the necessities of home- a large desk covered in ink stains, a round table and two large, plush armchairs in front of a roaring fire, and a comfortable bed shoved in the corner. There was so much furniture crammed into the small room that there was little space for Fenris to put his belongings, but he found room. Varric told him to sit down, and he cracked out a bottle of… was that mead? An odd choice, Fenris thought, but it was probably all he had available. Fenris appreciated the hospitality regardless, and sipped on the mead. 

”You’re lucky. You missed the Inquisitor by a few days. And the Seeker. She would have hounded you forever. Possibly stabbed your possessions.” Varric snickered. “And then you’d be stabbing her, and we can’t have that, can we?” 

”I left Kirkwall a few days after receiving your letter.” Fenris replied softly. He stared at Varric over his glass of mead, _really_ took a look at him. Varric looked tired. His shirt was wrinkled, his face covered in rough stubble, his hands stained with ink. But it was Varric’s eyes that gave him away. Fenris only remembered one other time that Varric looked so tired. 

”I am not good with words like you are. But I am sorry, Varric.” Fenris said. Varric scoffed, a sort of bark of a laugh that spoke more than any words Varric could say. 

”Yeah, well. He had to bite it eventually.” Varric said bitterly. “Damn world seemed to want him dead.” 

”Tell me what happened.” Fenris insisted, because even though his mind knew that Hawke couldn’t live forever, but his heart insisted that Hawke could survive anything. He killed the Arishok in combat, he faced off against demons and talking Darkspawn. Hawke seemed to be both blessed and cursed by the Maker. He would never find peace, but he would survive every trial and tribulation that came his way. That was how Hawkes flew. 

”Maker damned Magister ripped open a hole in the Fade and we all fell in.” Varric muttered into his mug. “And Maker damned Hawke stayed behind to let us escape.” 

”Forever the martyr.” Fenris remarked. 

”That’s Hawke.” Varric said with a sigh. “I’m guessing you want to go after him.” 

”I will, but I can’t enter the Fade.” Fenris said slowly. “I can’t search for Hawke alone.” 

”And I’m not about to let a friend put themselves in danger if I can help it.” Varric retorted. 

”Varric, please.” Fenris asked. Begged. He was not one to beg. He had not begged for anything in a long time. 

”You’re not the only one who loved Hawke, Fenris.” Varric said quietly. “And I won’t lose two more friends to fucking Corphyeus.” The room descended into silence, save for the crackling of the fire. 

”I know you wrote to him.” Fenris murmured, setting his mead back on the table. He looked at Varric, who was grinning the way he always did when he was hiding something. Grin and deflect. That was what Varric did. 

”Doesn’t mean that he’s in the same place now.” Varric said defensively. “I don’t hear from him. He doesn’t write. Probably can’t write with all this shit going on.” Varric was good at bluffing, but Fenris knew Varric well. Varric was a consummate bullshitter, and he was hiding something. 

”Varric, you know where to find us.” Fenris replied. “All of us. Where is he?” 

”I tell you, and you’ll leave tomorrow and kill him.” Varric chuckled bitterly. “So you understand why I’m not going to reveal my sources.” 

”Varric, I need him alive. He’s the only one who could help me reach Hawke.” Fenris said wearily. “But it won’t be any use if he’s dead.” 

”Nug shit, Fenris, I know you’ll rip his heart out.” Varric sighed. “Poor bastard would have an easier time if someone did him in.” 

”I care for Hawke more than I hate him.” Fenris replied. “Tell me, Varric. Please.” He waited for Varric to speak, but the dwarf turned his head away to stare at the fire. 

”You two aren’t going to meet up and braid hair and talk about boys, Fenris. I know you.” Varric laughed bitterly. “You won’t be meeting him for pleasure.” 

”Varric, where is he? Where is Anders?” 

-

The Deep Roads were a death trap Fenris wouldn’t wish on his greatest enemy. Not even Danarius should wander in its depths. Then again, Fenris thought bitterly as he looked out into the dark caverns and tunnels that branched off the main path, men like Danarius should never venture into the Deep Roads. He would dig up something unpleasant, something that would best remain buried. 

And if they didn’t hurry up and find a way out of here, _they_ would be buried. 

”I made a terrible mistake.” Varric muttered in the back. “What was I thinking? Bartrand was always a selfish bastard.” He glared into a small fire conjured up by Hawke as if it held answers, or at least some solution to their predicament. 

Fenris had nothing to say and no comfort to give, so he said nothing. He focused on the shadows that lingered outside their ring of fire light. Was that something moving in the darkness? He adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword and waited for the sounds to approach. They retreated. 

Good. 

”You couldn’t have known. You trusted Bartrand, that doesn’t make you weak.” Hawke assured Varric. 

”Damn stupid of me to trust him.” Varric retorted. “When did he ever care for anyone besides himself?” 

”Then we’ll get out of here and let him know exactly how we feel.” Hawke assured Varric, and the big man patted Varric’s shoulder. Even trapped underground Hawke was cheerful and kind. Fenris wondered how he could keep being so optimistic when everything looked so bleak. Trapped underground, betrayed by Varric’s older brother, fleeing from Darkspawn- everything was wrong. 

”I know elves can see better in the dark than humans, but you will smell Darkspawn sooner than you can see them.” The ragbag mage, Anders, approached Fenris and sat down on a large rock to Fenris’s left. He held his staff loosely in both hands, a wide, irritating grin spread on his face. But the set of his shoulders and the confident gleam in his eyes was more reassuring than Fenris thought it should be. 

”You have dealt with these before.” Fenris stated. He turned his eyes back to the darkness. 

”More than I would like.” Anders sighed. “There’s a reason I left the Wardens, and it wasn’t the clothes or the food.” He sounded tired, as tired as Fenris felt. As tired as they all felt. 

”Fed, clothed, and only have to fight unspeakable monsters.” Fenris said. “That sounds bearable.” 

”It wasn’t terrible.” Anders replied. “Not the best, not the worst. I had a cat.” 

”Oh, you had pets at work! Sounds like a perfect job to me.” Hawke approached and took a seat between them. “Varric’s taking a nap before we go up the left tunnel. Any sightings?” 

”Scent, Hawke. Scent before sight.” Anders sighed and stood up. Fenris saw how his thin, freckled hand lingered on Hawke’s shoulder for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he lifted it and retreated to the camp. “I’ll get some sleep, wake me up for the second watch, Hawke.” 

”Get some rest, Anders, we’ll need you at your best when start again.” Hawke called back. Anders waved his hand before setting his staff down and crawling into his bedroll. 

Fenris turned his eyes back to the darkness. In an hour or so Anders would start crying out in his sleep. Nightmares. Apparently being in the Deep Roads made them worse. Every time Anders sobbed and writhed and muffled his cries, Fenris reminded himself that he had suffered worse at the hands of mages. Anders would survive. 

”So how are you holding up, Fenris?” Hawke asked. His voice was surprisingly gentle. Fenris was not used to people being gentle, not with him. 

”It is certainly not how I planned to spend my time in the Deep Roads.” Fenris replied. Hawke laughed then, quiet but warm. Comforting. Fenris wanted to be comforted. 

”Yes, I don’t think any of us could plan for this.” Hawke said, clasping his hand on Fenris’s shoulder, a friendly gesture that reminded Fenris that he was not alone here. It was warm on his skin. Hawke was always warm. 

”Sorry I got you into this mess, Fenris.” Hawke said quietly. “But we’ll get out of this together. You, Varric, Anders and I, we’ll manage to get out.” 

”I know.” Fenris replied. “If anyone can get us out of this place alive, it’s you Hawke.” 

”Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Hawke replied with a laugh. He stood up and patted Fenris’s shoulder once more before taking a step back. “I’m going to check on Varric before I turn in. He’ll join you on the first watch.” 

”Or as Anders insists, it will be by first smell.” Fenris muttered, but smiled when Hawke laughed again. At least he could still make Hawke laugh. The sound sent birds swooping through Fenris’s stomach. Hawke made the fear and exhaustion they were suffering a little lighter, a little less of a burden on their souls. When Hawke was with them, they would survive the Deep Roads. With Hawke, they could survive anything. 

They survived. With Hawke at the helm there was little chance of any other outcome. But the world changed while they were underground. Hawke rose from Lowtown to Hightown, and reclaimed his mother’s family estate. But he lost his brother. Carver, spinning in sorrow over the death of his twin and lost without his brother, left the family to join Kirkwall’s Templars. Fenris didn’t know who was more offended by the act: Hawke or Anders. 

”That rat bastard! That twisted little snake!” Anders ranted under his breath as Hawke spoke with his mother. “I swear I’ll punch that little brat right in his nose-” 

”Little Hawke has at least ten stone on you, Blondie.” Varric said with a chuckle. “Just glare at him whenever he shows up at your clinic.” 

”I can’t believe he did this to Hawke. I won't treat him for crotch rot if he comes in, even if he begs!” Anders said with a huff, and he tossed his greasy blond hair back before storming off to glare into Hawke’s fireplace and mutter to himself. Or to the demon within him. Fenris never bothered to clarify. The ragbag was a fool to think he could control the monster under his skin- he had seen greater magisters fall under the sway of demons and their own hubris. 

Fenris was angry as well. Angry that Hawke was hurting, that Carver would throw his family away to lick his own hurts. But he had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself, which Anders could never do. Hawke hid his own hurts, and while Anders loudly railed and cried and screamed injustice, Fenris simply told Hawke that Carver had his reasons to do what he did. That he never reported his apostate brother to the other Templars was proof enough of his loyalty to his brother. 

”Speak to him, Hawke.” Fenris encouraged one day when they went to the Gallows to trade in information. “If only to ease your mind.” 

”Thank you, Fenris.” Hawke murmured back. “I’ll consider it.” He returned to looking through a stall filled with runes and enchanted objects, but the furrow in his brow eased. Fenris returned to watching the mages and Templars milling about in the yard. Even then, hating mages as he did, Fenris saw the fear in the eyes of each cowering mage and the cool anger in every Templars. The statues of cowering slaves loomed over them, and Fenris saw far too many parallels between himself and mages. Fenris tried not to think on it. Being similar to Anders was unbearable, and being like Hawke was impossible. No one could be like Hawke. 

Fenris glared up at the statues and wondered when someone would finally tear them down from their perches in the Gallows. With those statues standing high above him Fenris wondered if he could ever feel free. 

-

It took more coaxing and alcohol than Fenris thought it would, but he pried Anders’s last known location from Varric eventually. He also swore to not harm Anders, vowed to protect him, and promised that Varric could use him as target practice should Anders end up dead by his hand. Fenris gave Varric his word: Anders would not die by his hand. He would be safe. Finding Hawke was far more important than any enmity between him and Anders. That was all that mattered. Finding Hawke. 

He was certain Anders, or whatever remained of Anders, would agree. 

”Look, elf, Blondie might not be all there when you find him.” Varric warned. They were standing out on the main bridge to Skyhold, a sturdy stone structure that stretched out over a small canyon. A silver flash of water indicated that the canyon was formed by the constant wear and tear of ice and water. 

”Be gentle with him. He might not remember you. Or anything.” Varric added. “Blondie’s letters are strange when I get them. Not himself, you know? Nothing about mage rights or rebellion, it's like another man wrote them.” 

”Guilt can do that to a man.” Fenris replied. He checked the strap of his saddlebags and made sure they were tight. 

”He’s not the only one with blood on his hands.” Varric hissed. He glanced back to the fortress, back to Skyhold, before continuing on. “The whole world is looking for him. They’re out for his blood, and when you look at the relative scale of things? Blondie didn’t do shit compared to what we’re seeing now.” 

”He lit a powder keg.” Fenris said. “But the mage tried everything before he turned violent.” It did not hurt to admit that Anders had tried to avoid violence. There were many people who tried to end the bloodshed. Anders had simply had enough. It didn’t make it right, but he was not the only person to blame. Fenris reconciled himself with that as he traveled up to Skyhold. No one man could cause this chaos. 

”Well. I’ll let you go then.” Varric said awkwardly. Fenris reached out and took his hand. 

”Thank you, Varric. We’ll see you soon.” Fenris said, and shook Varric’s hand. Varric returned it, a firm gesture. A friendly one. It was strange to find a friend in a foreign land. 

”Don’t.” Varric said with a laugh. “With the Inquisition on my back and that Seeker on my tail, I’m not the safest person to come visit.” He sounded sad, which was uncommon for Varric. 

”I will write and let you know what I have found.” Fenris promised. His writing had improved over the years, thanks to Hawke. He mounted his horse and shifted his weight. "Perhaps a code, if your Seeker is so attentive?" 

”You make sure you do that, Fenris.” Varric waved him off, and Fenris rode away towards the west. Towards Orlais. Towards Anders. 

-

Fenris had never ridden across Orlais before. He had seen the countryside once, when Danarius traveled in style and kept Fenris clothed in silks and collared in gold in his carriage. It was refreshing to travel on horseback like a free man, wearing rough leather and metal. Fenris enjoyed riding during the day and camping out under the stars. He traded information with the travelers he met along the way. There were many pilgrims heading towards the Inquisition, and they were pleased to swap stories with someone who came from that direction. Fenris had many rumors to listen to and sort through. He kept his ears open for information on Anders’s location, but nothing was reliable or certain. Could he be a mage rumored to have gone mad and locked himself in a tower? Had he joined with the Wardens again and gotten himself killed at Adamant, where Hawke disappeared? Had he died in the middle of the fighting? Nothing was certain. 

Fenris wandered the streets of Montsimmard, listening for clues to point him towards Anders, but nothing he heard sounded like the mage he knew in Kirkwall. No mad scarecrow mages were wandering about Orlais screaming for justice. All he had was the last address Varric sent a letter to, a letter addressed to The Apple Inn located in a small town on the shores of Lake Celestine, close to the city of Val Firmin. He would go there and wait for news. Someone would have to have seen a ragged mage with dirty hair and an insolent attitude strutting about town. He listened for any scrap of information and kept himself anonymous so he could search without being found. He became a shadow, and used his anonymity to hide and hunt. 

The irony of using the skills he obtained while running from a magister to now hunt down a mage was not lost on Fenris. 

It was raining the day Fenris arrived to the lakeside town that Anders had been last heard from. The sky was gray, the air muggy, and the rain poured down in sheets. But even through the rain Fenris saw that the town was small and neat. There were the signs of war from the Templars and Mage, the intermittent Fade rifts, and the civil war within the country, but the Orlesian countryside seemed neater than in Ferelden. The roads were paved in cobblestone, and the towns were neatly constructed of stone and brick. There were vineyards surrounding the town. He passed by the winery an hour before he reached the outskirts of the town. 

Fenris found the inn easily enough, a two story building of pale yellow stone and blue shingles and shutters. He hitched the horse up in a stable and paid a stable boy to bring feed to the horse. He named the horse Shartan, for the creature was stubborn and bold. He was also a greedy giant of a horse, easily able to carry Fenris all this way. Shartan nipped at him as he rubbed him down with a clean cloth. Fenris pretended it was affectionate. 

”You will rest for some time tonight, Shartan.” Fenris told the horse. “He should be around here, if he hasn’t moved around.” The stable boy returned again with feed for the horse, and Fenris gave the boy another coin to groom Shartan. Fenris headed into the inn, hoping that he could get a decent meal and a bed to rest in for the night. As he stepped into the inn the warmth of the fire and the sounds of a cheerful crowded inn filled his ears. He slinked inside and paid for a small room for one and a meal. The innkeeper tested his coin, but gave him the room and invited him to stay in the tavern while his daughter prepared his room. Fenris did not expect to find a place that would house an elf, but he was grateful. He hung out in the inn’s tavern and did what he always did. He listened. 

The conversation varied from talks about the harvest and the vineyards. There was a debate over the rain and if it would ruin the grapes. The villagers complained of the problems with the Templar and mage fighting, and praised the Inquisition for settling the matter. One woman spoke of the birth of her niece and a man mentioned that his old war injury was aching. 

”The healer will be by tonight, let him have a look.” The woman suggested. “Magic hands, that one.” She winked at that remark, as if it were a private joke shared with friends. It caught Fenris’s attention like a lure draws a fish in. 

”Might do that, Clara.” The old man replied. “Good boy, that healer.” 

It is said that when you speak of demons, they appear. Fenris was never one for platitudes or old wife sayings, but the door to the inn opened up and a tall, thin, ragged looking creature staggered into the room. He tossed the hood of his cloak back, and uneven blond hair streaked with threads of red and gray fell into the man’s face and his scraggly beard. He looked like any wandering mountain man or hermit, but Fenris recognized those tired brown eyes. He had not seen those eyes in a long, long time. 

Fenris expected to find a man lording his powers over those around him, a magister in all but name taking advantage of the world. He expected a man lost to the seductive pull of power and privilege. Alternatively, Fenris considered that the man he found would have long been made insane by life and the power he could not contain in his body. Fenris thought he would find a broken man, one who had been driven to desperation, too mad to see the world around him anymore. 

But Fenris found neither. 

”Evening, everyone. A cup of tea would be welcome, if you can spare one.” Anders said, his voice hoarse but the cheer and warmth and brightness still so similar. It was still the same after everything. 

-

Fenris stood in the ocean, the cold waves licking up to his calves. His feet were freezing, and that cold raced up his body to the top of his head. But it felt good. The waters of Tevinter and Seheron were warm and pleasant. The waters off the Wounded Coast chilled him to the bone. But these waters were free waters. 

”You stand there long enough and an octopus will nibble off your toes!” The ragbag called out. Fenris turned around. Anders was safely on shore, the sand sinking under his boots. Behind him Isabela and Hawke set up camp on the sandy dunes of the beach. 

”It is too cold for an octopus to crawl out of hiding.” Fenris said automatically. “They would come out at dawn or twilight to feed.” A crab might snap at his toes, but Fenris stayed in the water. That was his choice. 

”You would know all about crabs.” Anders snarked, but Fenris did not rise to take the bait. He let the water wash over his feet. It was perfect. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back, soaking in sunlight and the breeze. Peace. He was at perfect peace here. 

”Nice view.” Hawke’s warm voice said to his left. Fenris whipped his head to face Hawke. He moved quietly for a big man. Fenris had not heard him approach. 

”Very soothing.” Hawke added. His dark hair fluttered in the wind. He had his boots in hand, and rolled up his pants to his knees. “Didn’t have many opportunities to go sea bathing, did you Fenris?” But the way he asked that question made it clear that Hawke already knew the answer. Fenris always marveled at how Hawke just _knew_ what Fenris felt. No one ever understood him before. 

”When would a slave have time to sea bathe?” Fenris asked as he wriggled his toes. “I am taking advantage of the time now.” They stood together watching the waves, frothy white foam floating on the wine dark sea. The roar of the ocean echoed in their ears, and no words were spoken. Hawke knew there was no need for words. 

”Knickerweasels, it’s fucking cold!” Anders exclaimed loudly behind them. Fenris glanced over his shoulder. The ragged mage had tossed his boots and coat on the sandy shore, and was picking his way through the water to stand on Hawke’s left. He finally stood alongside them and gazed out at the sea. 

”It’s better than swimming in Lake Calenhad, though.” Anders added. “Cold enough to freeze your stones off.” 

”You speaking from personal experience?” Hawke teased. Anders laughed, a bright, loud sound that surprised Fenris. Who knew the dour, irritable, irrational mage was capable of a sound of pure joy? 

”I am certain the mage would encourage you to examine him, Hawke.” Fenris added. He knew how Anders looked at Hawke, those slightly sad, hopeful eyes that lingered on Hawke at every moment. And Merrill claimed _he_ had puppy eyes. 

”If the elf gets frostbite I’m not healing it.” Anders retorted. Hawke shook his head and sighed, and a sudden heavy weight draped around Fenris’s shoulder. Hawke slung one arm across Fenris’s shoulders, and the other around Anders’s. 

”Enjoy the moment, you two.” Hawke urged, and they watched as the sun slowly set over the waves. Hawke’s arm was warm across his shoulders. 

”I have never waded in the ocean before.” Fenris said. “Not for pleasure.” 

”Because it’s stupid?” Anders suggested. 

”Because I never had the opportunity.” Fenris replied. 

”That’s something to celebrate.” Hawke said cheerfully. “To new opportunities.” 

”Good thing to celebrate.” Anders said. 

”Fine words.” Fenris agreed. 

”Are we going to stand in the water all day or are you boys going to eat supper?” Isabela called out. She waded out to meet them, the water up to her knees. “Colder than a Chantry sister’s tit, this water.” 

”We’ll eat now. Come on.” Hawke said, and he turned to wade back to shore. Fenris and Anders followed. 

-

Anders was as much the same as he ever was. He was strange and whimsical by turns, as odd a puzzle to Fenris as the day they first met. He noticed Fenris the same moment Fenris recognized him, but he didn’t react. Instead he walked the room, speaking with townspeople. A barmaid handed him a mug of tea, and Anders smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. After he made his rounds Anders reached Fenris’s corner table. He hesitated for a moment, set the mug on the table, and waited for the conversation in the inn to pick up again before he spoke. 

”Since you haven’t ripped my heart out yet, I assume it’s safe for me to sit down.” Anders said. His voice was soft. Uncertain. Fenris had never heard the mage sound so vulnerable before. Fenris merely nodded, and Anders sat. He sipped his tea, and Fenris ate the stew the barmaid placed in front of him. 

”If you want to kill me, wait until we’re somewhere private.” Anders added. “I like the people here. They might be frightened if you glow at them.” 

”And they are not frightened when you glow at them?” Fenris asked. 

”Ah, he speaks!” Anders said snarkily. “But no, Justice has been quiet. Especially of late.” 

”Quiet?” Fenris had not realized that demons could be silent. 

”He’s been preoccupied, which is good. I keep focused on my work.” Anders replied. “I help the villagers deal with the occasional demon, Templar, or mage skirmish. I heal. In return the people keep their mouths shut about the apostate living in the abandoned mill.” 

”And they don’t know who you are?” Fenris asked, a cold fury filling him as he realized that Anders had apparently been living a careless life of idleness while Hawke fixed his former lover’s mistakes. “They don’t know what you’ve done?” 

”They don’t ask and I don’t say.” Anders said smoothly. “So why are you here, if you aren’t here to kill me?” 

Fenris didn’t say a word. He pulled out Varric’s letter and smoothed out the worn, tear-stained parchment on the rough wooden planks of the table. Anders looked down, and reached into his coat pocket. He extracted his own parchment, just as worn, just as stained with tears. Fenris slowly read the words. 

_Blondie,_

_Hawke’s gone. I’m sorry. Stay safe out there._

_Varric_

Fenris hesitated, and slowly looked up into Anders’s eyes. There was no trace of madness in those eyes, only a mix of sorrow and determination. It was like looking into a mirror. 

”If you’re looking for Hawke, then I’m coming too.” Anders said solemnly. It was a vow. 

-

Fenris let Anders stay with him that night. The innkeeper was happy to upgrade his room once he learned that he was a companion of “the healer.” 

”He has saved our town countless times since he arrived. A good, humble man. He walks in the Light of the Maker.” The innkeeper praised. Fenris clamped his mouth shut and did not say that Anders lit a House of the Maker on fire. He needed Anders alive, not drawn and quartered by an angry mob of Orlesian peasants. He thanked the innkeeper for his generosity and returned to his rented room. 

Anders was taking full advantage of the bath one of the maids drew for them. He was fiercely scrubbing his arms when Fenris entered, the freckled skin pink from the friction and heat of the water. He was skinny, but not as thin as he was in Kirkwall. He was tired and sad with dark bruises under his eyes, but Fenris thought Anders looked healthier than he had ever seen him before. He did not look haunted and weighed down. When he was like this, Fenris could almost see what Hawke saw in Anders. 

”I can refill the tub for you when I’m done.” Anders offered. “If you aren’t afraid of a little magic.” 

”I’ll consider it.” Fenris replied. He went through his pack and pulled out a spare linen tunic for Anders. “Get some rest. We gather supplies tomorrow. Then…” 

”Then?” Anders prompted. 

”We head to the Western Approach, to Adamant Fortress.” 

-

Gathering supplies was easy. It seemed that everyone owed Anders a favor. He cured colds in children, healed rheumatism in the elderly, set broken bones, delivered babies, and trained up a small group of healers, both mages and mundane, to assist in the work. Fenris was impressed. Anders carved a place for himself in this town as their ragged healer. He was safe here, and had reached some sort of approximation of happiness. How did he do it? 

Fenris negotiated for another horse for Anders, a mellow mare with a pale red coat. The seller called it a “strawberry roan.” Fenris picked her because she was quiet and sweet, and Anders apparently had no experience riding horses. 

”Ready to go?” Anders asked as Fenris checked on the straps of his saddlebags one last time. There were provisions, spare clothing, two spare daggers, a sharpening stone, a skin treated with oil to keep water off, and the countless myriad of other items that could prove useful in travel. Gathering the items and packing them up with Anders was rather nostalgic. He half expected Merrill to throw in an extra useless item, or for Isabela to sneak in her alcohol, and for Hawke to mercilessly tease them as he hid sweets in his belongings. 

”I am ready.” Fenris said, and he flung his body up onto Shartan so he and Anders could begin their journey. 

Anders was a surprisingly pleasant traveling companion. Fenris had always known the man was competent. He was a Warden, and even a lapsed Warden knew how to survive in the wilderness. He could catch, kill, clean, and cook a rabbit for their meals. He knew how to find fresh water. He could track any animal, a skill Fenris struggled to learn. Anders was a valuable asset to their group of two. Fenris, who had only lived in cities, depended on Anders’s skills to survive. He did not know if he trusted Anders (he never had before, not fully), but Fenris trusted in Anders’s knowledge. 

What surprised Fenris was not Anders’s competence but his consideration. He took care of Fenris. He fed Fenris. He gave Fenris his food and healed his injuries. They did not speak much, but Anders looked after him. Anders was a good companion, so Fenris looked after him in turn. 

They traveled like this before, Fenris thought. Countless times in fact. All that was missing was Hawke. If Hawke was there the awkward silences would be gone. He would start the campfires and fix the meals. He mended relationships and eased tensions with his warm presence alone. 

Hawke’s absence was a gaping hole between Fenris and Anders. They could not navigate around it, even as they traveled through the Orlesian countryside to the Western Approach. The terrain became rockier. Drier. The trees turned to rough scrub bushes and ragged grass. It reminded Fenris of places in Tevinter, of the bright sun and dry sands near Minrathous. Anders apparently felt much the same way. 

”Feels like the Anderfels.” Anders muttered one night as they huddled around the campfire. Shartan was tied to a prickly juniper bush, and Anders’s strawberry roan stood placidly next to him. 

”You are from the Anderfels, are you not?” Fenris asked as he brushed through his hair with a wooden comb. 

”No. My parents were, and they raised me with the language and customs. But I went there as a Warden once ages ago.” Anders shuddered. “The Ander people might not like mages, but they worship Wardens. It wasn’t a terrible time. I had friends. A roof over my head. A cat.” 

”Why did you leave?” Fenris asked. He had always wondered, but beyond a few mutterings of injustice, Anders hd never answered the question to Fenris’s satisfaction. 

”The Warden left. Then they took my cat. Then they set a Templar guard on me, and that’s when I left.” Anders said shortly. He was looking at the fire, but it seemed like he was looking _beyond_ the flames. There was more. Fenris knew there was more because there was always more to every tale. But Anders did not share, and Fenris did not press for more information. 

”So you left.” Fenris said. 

”So I left.” Anders agreed. They watched the fire crackle in thousands of little sparks, and that was the end of the conversation for the night. 

-

They never rode horses when they traveled with Hawke, Fenris thought as he and Anders navigated the sandy ground. There was no need to ride horses when they were usually traveling inside the city. Even when they left Kirkwall, the places they went to would frighten horses. But now they rode across the desert and traveled from oasis to oasis, making their way to Adamant Fortress. It was a slow journey. They needed water, both for themselves and the horses, and they had to avoid rogue groups of Venatori mages and Red Templars as they traveled. The world had gone mad, and he and Anders changed their paths to avoid those pockets of madness. 

Hawke would be much more direct. He would challenge the attacks head on. That was how he was. Fenris had not gone on the voyage to the Vimmarck Mountains, but Anders and Varric had. Anders because he was Hawke’s lover and a Warden, and Varric because Varric was an interfering busybody who had to chase his latest story. Varric waxed eloquently about the trip, the Warden prison, and all of Hawke’s exploits. Anders had not said much about the trip, only held Hawke’s hand in his own and stayed close to him. Fenris remembered how much the jealousy burnt at his stomach and up his throat. 

Fenris was never direct. Not when it mattered. Too much the slave, he supposed. He struggled to disobey, to assert himself, to put his needs before others. He never chased after Hawke, even though it hurt to see him with Anders. But that was Hawke’s decision, and even if Fenris thought it was a bad decision he would stay by Hawke’s side. It just hurt. He pushed Hawke away after their shared night. He was frightened by intimacy Hawke had so freely given him. Fenris was even more terrified by the realization that he suddenly had the power to hurt the one person he treasured above all others. So he warned Hawke away, and Hawke fell into Anders’s keeping. 

It hurt, but Fenris told himself it was for the best. And now, traveling with Anders without the miasma of Kirkwall looming over them, Fenris saw the man Hawke knew. He saw the healer who kept Hawke together even when he was falling apart. And Fenris knew that Anders was the better man for Hawke. 

He always had been. 

-

”Do you ever miss where you came from?” Anders asked as they rode out across a mesa. 

”What should I miss? The slavery? The blood magic?” Fenris snarked back. The sun was hot on his back and the wind kicked sand into his eyes. He was sweaty and covered in dirt and grit, and the temperature was testing even his infinite patience. 

”No!” Anders replied. He urged his horse forward, just a little closer to Fenris and Shartan. “You just have to take everything the wrong way, don’t you?” 

”Is there a right way to understand your question?” Fenris asked. 

”It’s not a- even I miss parts of the Circle, Fenris!” Anders exclaimed. “I hated the place and I still miss it!” 

”What do you hope to gain from your questions?” Fenris finally asked once he determined that Anders was not trying to trick him. 

”I’d rather ask questions than ride on Lady Strawberries and Cream in total silence this entire trip!” Anders burst out. “It’s maddening, sitting in silence and waiting for you to turn and kill me.” 

”I will not kill you.” Fenris replied. “I need your help to find Hawke. Why would I kill you?” 

”We’ve never gotten along.” Anders retorted. “The only reason neither of us tried was because of Hawke.” But Hawke was no longer here. Anders was waiting for Fenris to turn on him. He was dancing on the edge of a knife and wondering when Fenris would finally strike. But Fenris would not strike Anders. He would not kill him. It would not happen. 

”I will not kill you, Anders.” Fenris finally said. “You must find death at another’s hand, not mine.” 

”If this is an elaborate way to send me off to that Vael prat-” Anders warned, and Fenris let out a short, harsh bark of a laugh. It was a laugh devoid of all but the bitterest of humor. 

”Sebastian has laid siege to Kirkwall in an attempt to have your head, Anders. In doing so he has made every one of Kirkwall’s problems _worse_.” Fenris sighed. “There is no deal between Sebastian and myself.” 

”That’s a surprise.” Anders muttered. “Not that I’m complaining, I’m glad I’ll keep my head.” 

”Varric may have sworn to stick me full of arrows courtesy of Bianca if I should kill you.” Fenris added. “But that did not at all factor in my decision at all.” 

”I’m almost certain you’re joking.” Anders said after a moment. “But you so rarely joke.” 

”Perhaps I am joking. Perhaps not.” Fenris replied. “We will camp at that ridge.” He pointed to a distant outcropping of rocks and urged Shartan forward. Anders followed on Strawberry. Fenris refused to call the mare the full name Anders gave her. Ridiculous. 

-

”What I miss about the Circles is the people.” Anders said abruptly that evening. They had bathed the dust of travel off their bodies, and Fenris and Anders used the soap they packed to wash their hair. Anders helped Fenris wash the soap out of his long strands, and Fenris returned the favor. It was strange to share such an intimate activity with someone who he had not trusted for so long. It was stranger to discover that Fenris trusted Anders now. He trusted Anders to help him find Hawke. Fenris knew Anders would do everything to find Hawke. In some ways, Anders was just like him. 

”It was never lonely in a Circle. When I wasn’t in solitary, that is.” Anders added wistfully, his damp hair clinging to his hollow cheeks and sharp jawline. “We all slept in the same room, us apprentice mages. If we had nightmares there was always someone there to hold you, or to be held in turn. It was… it was nice. I didn’t feel alone. It made me feel like I wasn’t lost, like I _belonged_.” 

Fenris wondered why Anders would share such personal information about his life with him when it was so clear that it hurt to speak of it. But then there was that look, the fragile eager light in Anders’s eyes, and Fenris realized that Anders wanted to _share_ stories. He wanted to share in the pain and comfort of stories. 

Fenris wanted it too. 

”I ate rice porridge in Tevinter.” Fenris said as the fire crackled, his voice so low he was certain Anders could not hear it. “It was food for slaves. But one day, Danarius was whimsical. He fed me a date stuffed with goat cheese. Just one. He fed me from his hand at a feast as I kneeled by his seat. It thrilled him, to feed something so powerful and vicious by hand in front of all his peers.” 

Anders was silent. Fenris glanced over, and saw that the man was shocked. His expression was crossed between horrified and disgusted. His eyes, those tawny brown eyes, looked sad. Fenris wondered what it was that put that sadness in Anders’s eyes. Fenris was not saddened by his past anymore. It no longer haunted him as it once did. 

”I did not wonder if I hated his touch. I ate what was given to me without question.” Fenris mused. “And now I know how much I hated the way Danarius touched me. But I also know the lure of that date. The lure of the finer things in life. I hate that I long for the bait in the trap.” 

”I am sorry.” Anders whispered. “I hadn’t realized.” 

”No.” Fenris replied. “You did not. But you should not apologize for what you could not know.” They returned to gazing at the fire, and remained silent for the rest of the night. 

Somehow it was that impossible conversation that made ones to come easier. They were fragile around each other. Fragile, but growing stronger. He was surprised when Anders broke out a small jar of honey, something he had saved for their medical supplies. He spread it thinly over a piece of flat bread and handed it to Fenris. Fenris ate it, the golden honey dripping on his fingers. It was more delicious than any delicacy from Tevinter. 

Fenris found his own ways to return Anders’s strange kindness. He did not tolerate other people touching him, not since Hawke, but he allowed Anders to come close. He let Anders touch his shoulder and pat his back, and he even let Anders rest against him for a few moments before pushing him away. It was not terrible. Fenris found himself enjoying those casual touches. He understood what Anders meant when he said touching helped him feel less alone. 

What was surprising was that Anders could be rather amusing, when the demon wasn’t controlling his thoughts and actions. He was sarcastic, but there was enough teasing and lightness to keep the sarcasm from ever being too biting. Fenris thought it would be a trial to care for Anders and travel with him. It was anything but. 

”Fenris, you said Sebastian lay siege to Kirkwall.” Anders said as they traveled along a steep cliffside. It was late afternoon, the sun slowly setting over the horizon. “It doesn’t seem like him at all.” 

”He wants your head and believes Hawke was harboring you.” Fenris replied. “Aveline has mounted a defense of the city, and Varric must have convinced the Inquisition to send her aid.” 

”He truly thinks I’m so selfish that I would put Hawke at risk?” Anders asked. He sounded offended, and Fenris remembered how distraught Hawke was when Anders left. The mage was there one day, ranting about justice and peace as the sky turned red and the world trembled, and then the next day he was gone. He picked up his measly belongings and left as if he never existed. Hawke was devastated. 

”I believe he thinks Hawke is selfless enough to protect you.” Fenris said softly. Anders shook his head but did not argue. 

Fenris knew he was right. Hawke would have kept Anders a secret from the world if he could. And Fenris knew now that Anders would never let Hawke make that choice. That was why he left Kirkwall. To protect Hawke. Any residual anger Fenris held towards Anders for hurting Hawke so deeply faded as ice melts in the spring. He had made the same choice once, and with similar results. He would not be a hypocrite and rage at Anders for trying to protect the man he loved. Fenris had done the same. 

-

”How do you feel about the Chantry?” Anders asked suddenly one morning as they packed up their camp. Anders had cooked breakfast that day, so while he rolled up the bedrolls Fenris washed the dishes and put out the fire. His hair kept slipping over his shoulder, as he was too lazy to put it up in a topknot today. 

”Pardon?” 

”The Chantry. What are your thoughts on it?” Anders asked. He tied up the bedroll to his saddle, and moved on to Fenris's bedding. 

”In Tevinter the Chantry says the mages rule. My rightful place was underneath the heel of a mage.” Fenris recited dully. “But I find little difference between the Chantry of Southern Thedas and the Chantry of Tevinter. Elves are not as welcome as the human faithful.” 

”But there’s Shartan!” Anders protested. “You have Shartan!” 

”That book is banned by the Chantry and you know it.” Fenris replied, sweeping dirt over the hot coals of the fire. “And you have Andraste.” 

”Point taken.” Anders replied. “So you’re not a man of faith, Fenris?” 

”I am undecided.” Fenris said. “It seems comforting. But the Chantry is not for elves. It is not for me.” 

”I’m Andrastian, but the Chantry is corrupt.” Anders agreed. “The Inquisition will change things.” 

”For the better?” Fenris asked as he slipped the wooden dishes into his saddlebags. 

”I don’t know, Fenris.” Anders sighed and tied his bedroll to the back of his saddle. “No one much cares for hungry mages. It will probably be more of the same.” Anders shook his head and got onto Strawberry. 

”Time to go. I think we need to head north now, to the next oasis.” Anders added. Fenris got up on Shartan and rode next to Anders, the morning air cool on his skin. 

-

They started swapping stories about Hawke as they rode. There was nothing else to do, and Fenris burned with curiosity and longing for Hawke. Anders clearly felt the same way, and they shared the collection of happy memories that they had of Hawke. When Anders told the stories, he became more animated. It was as if he lit up from within, and when he told stories about Hawke he imitated the man’s voice, his mannerisms, the way he smiled all slow and warm. There was a current of deep love that ran through those stories, through those little bits of Hawke that they could share. 

Hawke liked blueberries, and once ate so many his mouth was stained blue. He left juice stains all over Anders’s clothes and skin. 

Hawke loved animals, so much so that he volunteered to catch the mice in Fenris’s mansion rather than let the stray cats take care of the infestation. Hawke was so convincing that he dragged Fenris into rescuing all the mice and relocating them. 

Hawke visited his mother’s grave every month and made sure it was clean. Fenris left candles at the grave to remember the woman who made sure he was fed and sheltered, even though he was a stranger and a fugitive. Anders left plants: rosemary for remembrance, heather for protection. Fenris hoped those who remained in Kirkwall remembered Leandra. 

They talked of Hawke until it seemed that they had told every tale of Hawke in existence. Fenris so missed being able to talk freely, and Anders was surprisingly easy to speak to. He was warm and funny, and even when they argued their fights no longer had that dark bitter bite to them. Fenris enjoyed their disagreements, just as he enjoyed when they got along. And sometimes Anders would laugh, and the sound made Fenris’s stomach swoop the way it did when he was with Hawke. 

Fenris didn’t know what to do about that, so he buried it. What was important was finding Hawke. Developing feelings for Anders while they still longed for Hawke was a bad idea. A terrible idea. But Fenris couldn’t help himself. He let himself fall. 

-

”You’re pretty handy with a sword, Fenris.” Anders remarked one day. They had run into a group of bandits even though they tried to avoid them. They dispatched the group quickly, and Anders was going through the group’s meager possessions while Fenris cleaned his blade. 

”It is how I make my living.” Fenris replied. “I should be skilled at it.” 

”You could have gone with Sebastian. You could have trained his militia in Starkhaven.” Anders pointed out. He finished poking through people’s pockets and returned empty handed. 

”And send innocent men to die at Aveline’s hands?” Fenris asked. “No.” 

”So maybe not.” Anders conceded. “I could see you as a great fencing master, though. Living in Antiva City or Nevarra, training all the nobles in the great art of dueling-” 

”I prefer hunting slavers.” Fenris said. “And I have no desire to inflict what Danarius did to me on anyone else.” 

”You never would.” Anders said kindly. “You’re harsh, Fenris, but you aren’t cruel.” And there it was again, that kindness that warmed him to the bone, that gentle manner that soothed his hurts. Hawke was a warm fire to rest next to after a long day. Anders was a soft rainfall that washed the world away. 

-

”Why did you leave Hawke?” Fenris asked one night as the fire died and the wind blew over the dunes. 

”You know why.” Anders said, his voice tired and strained. “Because I blew up the Chantry and killed the Grand Cleric. If I stayed Hawke would try to keep me hidden, and then I’d get caught and we’d both be killed.” 

”So you left to keep him safe.” Fenris confirmed. 

”Yes. Didn’t you?” Anders asked. “That’s why you left Hawke. You left to protect him.” 

Fenris could have told Anders more. He could have told Anders everything. He could have told Anders how he was afraid. How that night with Hawke lit a fire within him that he feared would burn him and destroy Hawke with it. But Fenris feared Hawke’s touch. He feared what Hawke’s touch brought him. Too many memories. Too much fear. 

”You said I was a fool for doing so.” Fenris pointed out weakly. 

”I lied.” Anders replied, as if that admission was easy to make. As if the truth was easy to say. “You’re selfless, and I’m a naturally selfish being. You left Hawke because you thought you would hurt him. I swooped in because he was hurting and I wanted him to myself.” 

”Hawke loved you, Anders.” Fenris insisted. “He chose to be with you.” 

”Hawke always held the torch for you, Fenris.” Anders replied. “He never fell out of love with you.” 

”But he picked you, Anders.” Fenris said. “And I understand why. You gave him comfort. You made his house a home.” Anders loved Hawke with his entire being. Fenris held himself back. Anders was what Hawke needed, someone who loved Hawke with no hesitation, just completely and all-encompassing. 

”And I understand why he loved you, Fenris.” Anders murmured, and Fenris felt his heart leap into his throat. “You’re loyal, selfless, intelligent, handsome- I was jealous of you.” 

”Jealous?” Fenris parroted. What did Anders have to be jealous over? Anders was the one Hawke _chose_. 

”Who wouldn’t be? You were quite the rival.” Anders chuckled weakly, and he leaned against Fenris. His body blocked the night breeze. “And perhaps I was a little jealous of Hawke, too.” 

Fenris didn’t not reply, but he did not move away. He felt the same way. 

-

Falling in love with Anders was easier than it should have been. It was not like it was with Hawke. It never would be like Hawke. Fenris fell in love with Hawke because Hawke was like sunlight on a plant that lived in darkness. He drew everyone to him with his magnetic charm. But Anders… Anders was different. Where Hawke was completely unlike Fenris, Anders was like a mirror. There were differences, of course. No reflection was perfect. But the similarities were undeniable. Fenris loved Hawke for everything that made them different. Fenris was learning to love Anders for what they held in common. 

And Fenris knew, he _knew_ , that Anders felt the same. Fenris recognized the way Anders curled up next him when they rested by the fire, felt Anders’s affection in each tender touch and every shared conversation. It was never said, but that did not make their feelings any less real. With every conversation, with every smile, with every laugh, Fenris knew what he felt. He knew what he _could_ feel. 

Fenris wanted, but he knew he shouldn’t demand more. Anders was not ready. _Fenris_ wasn’t ready. They were both pining after Hawke. They could never find peace and be together with Hawke’s presence looming over them both. But when they slipped into their bedrolls and watched the fire die down, Fenris wanted nothing more than to reach out and take that hand that was so close to his own. 

”You are easy to like, Anders.” Fenris remarked quietly as they ate their dinner of dried meat and travel bread. Adamant Fortress loomed above them, a mass of dark stone set against the lesser darkness of the night sky. 

“I did not realize it before.” Fenris added. “We never had the opportunity to simply talk in Kirkwall.” 

”I learned to be charming from a young age.” Anders replied. “Justice doesn’t see the point in charm. There’s no point in charm when the world is only right or wrong.” 

”But now you can be charming again.” Fenris said. 

”Yes.” Anders smiled coyly. He bit his lower lip and his long eyelashes fluttered, dark crescents against his pale, freckled cheeks. “Have I charmed you?” 

It was innocent flirting, the sort of interactions Fenris missed having with Hawke. But it wasn’t Hawke sitting at the fire with him. It was Anders. 

”And if you have?” Fenris murmured. Anders looked over at him and edged closer, until Fenris felt the heat of Anders’s skin against his own. 

”If I have-” Anders began hesitantly. He licked his lips and started again. “If I have, then I would say that you have charmed me as well.” 

”That is-” Fenris’s voice faded into nothing. Charmed? He charmed Anders? Fenris was not a charming person. He was simply who he was, without charm or artifice. But Anders seemed to care for him. Was attracted to him. 

”Inconvenient?” Anders asked flippantly. “That is my greatest flaw. I fall in love when it’s inconvenient.” He was guarded when he said those words. He was hiding behind smiles and clever words. Fenris knew what it was to hide. He also knew what it meant to reveal yourself. If someone had to be honest first, Fenris knew it would have to be him. 

”I was going to say unlikely.” Fenris muttered, and Anders flung his head back and howled with laughter. He was no longer hiding. 

”Loving you isn’t unlikely, Fenris.” Anders finally said once his laughter died. “I can’t think of anyone more worthy of love than you.” 

”Hawke.” Fenris said automatically, but Anders spread his hands out to either side of his body, his pinkie finger extended. It curled around Fenris’s pinkie. Fenris hesitantly curled his finger until they clung together. 

”Loving Hawke is like breathing air.” Anders murmured. “And falling in love with you is difficult, far more difficult. But it is still good, even though it isn’t easy.” 

”I do not believe we love because it is easy.” Fenris said softly. “We love because we can. Because we are who we are.” He lost track of how long he stared at the dying fire and clung to Anders’s pinky. It was a long time. Fenris wondered when his marks stopped aching whenever he touched others. 

”I still love Hawke.” Anders eventually said. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop. But I love you too. At least, I’m learning to.” 

As am I, Fenris thought as he let his head drop to Anders’s shoulder. As am I. 

-

They arrived in Adamant the next morning. The fortress was far less imposing in the daylight. The battle that happened here tore the walls down to their foundations. It was destroyed. Fenris felt the lingering taint of magic sparking at his skin and coursing through his lyrium veins. 

”Justice says the Veil is weak here.” Anders remarked. “We need to get further in.” 

”We will make a sweep of the grounds.” Fenris decided. “If the Veil is thin, could we… walk in it?” 

”In theory, yes.” Anders said after a moment. “It’s certainly dangerous. We shouldn’t attempt it.” 

”There may be no other choice.” Fenris replied. “If we want to find Hawke.” 

”I don’t want to lose you too.” Anders sighed and reached out to grab Fenris’s hand. Fenris held onto Anders and gave the man a weak smile. “We’ll do everything we can.” 

“We will not fail.” Fenris promised. “We will find Hawke together.” He gently tugged Anders into the fortress. They climbed over rubble and poked through the remains of demons and soldiers. With every human corpse they stumbled upon they held their breath until they could confirm that no, this was not Hawke. Every time they found a Warden Anders shuddered before going through the Warden’s belongings to find out who it was. There were no Wardens that Anders knew personally, but Fenris saw how Anders’s hands trembled with every new body. He hoped that none of Anders’s companions were here. He hoped they stayed away. 

”Here it is.” Anders finally said, pointing to the epicenter of the rubble. “This is where it’s weakest.” They stood on the ground floor of the fortress, grey stone crumbled all around them as if a giant had torn the fortress apart by hand. Fenris could feel how weak the Veil felt against his skin. Normally it was difficult to cross the border into the Fade, but here it was thin. It felt like Fenris could cross easily if he just pressed his hand through the air. 

”If the Veil is weak here, we could reach into the Fade.” Fenris said. “Hypothetically, of course.” 

”Yes, hypothetically we should be able to reach into the Fade.” Anders replied. “That is, _you_ can reach into the Fade.” 

”With the lyrium.” Fenris finished Anders’s theory. “How should we do it?” 

”I’ll find the place where the rift was torn open.” Anders said, walking around the rubble, his head questing from side to side as if he was sniffing for the Fade. “Right… around… here!” Anders jabbed his hand in the air, and it shimmered like heat waves over hot sand. He traced the air with his fingers, drawing a thin, invisible line back and forth. 

”Should I phase through now?” Fenris asked. 

”Just try your hand first.” Anders said. “We don’t know what is on the other side.” 

Anders started poking at the air in front of him. It should have looked ridiculous, but the pale green sparks at his fingers indicated that something was happening. He traced the invisible line, the sparks lingering until there was a slit of green fire hanging in the dry desert air. Fenris walked closer and waited for Anders to say something. He pulled his sword out of its sheath. Anders already held his staff loosely in one hand. 

”Phase through here. Anything grabs on, you tug your hand out and unphase.” Anders ordered. He reached out toward Fenris with his free hand, but he pulled back before they could touch. They stared at each other. Anders looked nervous. No, not nervous, Fenris realized, but afraid. Anders rarely seemed afraid. 

Fenris was suddenly struck with the realization that this was dangerous. He could die. Something could happen and Fenris could die and leave Anders alone. Anders would not only have lost Hawke, but he would have lost Fenris too. Fenris closed the distance between them and grabbed the back of Anders’s head with his free hand before going up on his toes and tugging Anders’s head down to kiss him. 

It was not gentle. He was desperate, and Anders fed on that desperation. But Fenris kissed Anders with all the intensity he had in his soul, and Anders returned that passion. At some point Fenris dropped his sword to cling desperately to the collar of Anders’s coat. Anders’s hands rested at Fenris’s waist. 

They were warm. 

”I will come back.” Fenris eventually murmured when he finally pulled himself away from Anders. “And I will return with Hawke.” 

”Be careful.” Anders said softly, stroking Fenris’s cheek with his fingers. He was gentle. Fenris wondered how Anders could treat him like he was made of porcelain when he knew Fenris was formed from iron. 

”I will.” Fenris replied. “Keep watch.” 

”I will.” Anders promised. He stepped back and picked his staff up from the ground. Fenris picked up his sword and took a deep breath. He activated the markings on his arm and shoved his arm into the tear in the Veil before he could convince himself to do otherwise. 

There was nothing. Fenris pulled his hand out and examined the limb. It was fine. No damage. No lingering ill effects. He tried again, this time extending his arm and reaching out. For a moment his fingers seemed to brush against something, but then there was nothing. He pulled his arm out again. 

He would have to step further in if he wanted to search for Hawke. Fenris looked over to Anders, who set his staff down and started searching through his pack before pulling out a length of rope. 

”I have to stay here and keep the Veil open, but if I tie this around my waist and you tie the other end around yours, we should be able to navigate without any trouble.” Anders said with forced cheer. Fenris could tell that his smile was faked. 

”Any added trouble.” Fenris said, and Anders nodded. He tied the robe around his waist and knotted it, then handed the loose end to Fenris. Fenris took it and tied himself to Anders. 

”Tug once if you’ve found Hawke.” Anders suggested. “Tug twice if you need me to pull you back.” He tucked a strand of Fenris’s hair behind his ear. 

”I’ll do that.” Fenris replied. He stroked the back of Anders’s hand with his fingers and gave the man a smile. It was weak and trembling, but he still smiled before pulling away. 

Once more. Fenris reached into the Veil. This time he stepped fully into the Fade, phasing his entire body and pushing through air that felt like sap. Magic crackled and sparked against his skin. 

When Fenris opened his eyes he was in another world, one made of black stone and green skies, with lightning and fire raining down from the heavens. Fenris hesitantly stepped forward, one step, two steps, so many more steps, when something weakly brushed against his ankle. Not just something, Fenris realized when he looked down, but a hand. A terribly familiar hand, with familiar battle scars and skin and coarse hair on the back of the hand and the knuckles. 

”Hawke!” Fenris knelt down next to what looked like a pile of armor and rags. The pile moved, and Hawke laughed. It was weak and strained, but it was Hawke. It was still Hawke, and he was wearing the armor he was given after defeating the Arishok. He was covered in blood and filth, and thinner than Fenris had ever seen him, but it was Hawke. No one could imitate Hawke. 

”Damn good disguise, demon. The lyrium’s a clever trick. How did you get the pure stuff down here?” Hawke said, his laughter turning into a series of hacking coughs. “But Fenris isn’t here, so you can go back to being a creepy spider and I’ll go back to stabbing you with my staff.” 

”Come on, Hawke. Up on your feet.” Fenris ordered, dragging Hawke off the ground. The man was lighter than Fenris remembered, and he didn’t put up much of a fight. Fenris tugged on the rope around his waist once. It was still taut, his one connection to the outside world and to Anders. _Found Hawke_. Anders tugged back almost immediately, and Fenris began walking back. They found Hawke! 

”Fuck no, not getting tricked.” Hawke mumbled into his matted beard, his ragged hair hanging over his eyes. Fenris looped one of Hawke’s sinewy arms around his shoulders as they walked back through the stark landscape of the Fade. Food or drink was unnecessary in the Fade, but Hawke had been here for far longer than most mages. He was exhausted. 

”One more step, Hawke. We’re almost out.” Fenris muttered. It was more than one step, perhaps it was more than ten, but they were close. Nine steps, eight steps, seven, six- 

”Fucking dreams in the Fade.” Hawke murmured, a smile stretching across his gaunt face. His cheeks were hollow under his scruffy beard. “Damn good dream, though. You look good with long hair, Fenris.” 

”I will bask in your compliments once we are safe.” Fenris retorted, and he shoved Hawke through the Veil and to the other side. Back to Anders. Back home. 

Fenris returned to the Fade and nearly tripped over both Hawke and Anders. The Veil closed behind him, and Fenris fell to his knees next to Anders and Hawke in the ruins of a desert fortress. Fenris sprawled out on his side and watched the tear in the Veil spark out of existence. Anders collapsed next to Hawke, and was staring at the man as if he saw a ghost. And Hawke was flat on his back, his filthy face staring up at the clear afternoon sky. 

”The sky’s blue.” Hawke said blankly. “Really fucking blue.” He turned his head over to Fenris, then to the other side towards Anders, and then back up at the sky. He started coughing, then laughing, tears creating streaks down his face. 

Anders was laughing and crying as well, kneeling over and tenderly brushing Hawke’s hair out of his eyes while trying to speak. The only words that came out were “You idiot!” and “You unbelieveable madman.” And Fenris found that his own face was wet as he crawled over to Hawke and held his hand, then reached over his body to hold onto Anders as well. 

”I thought I was lost.” Hawke croaked out. 

”You’ve been found. Welcome back.” Fenris said hoarsely, the joy in his heart rising up and thick in his throat. 

”Welcome _home_.” Anders added, squeezing Fenris’s hand. Hawke sat up and flung his arms around them both, and the three men embraced under clear desert skies. 

-

”How did you know where to find me?” Hawke asked that evening. They moved on from Adamant as soon as they could manage to move, Hawke declaring he never wanted to see the miserable place again. Now they sat by the fireside near an oasis, with Adamant nothing more than a smudge on the horizon. Hawke sat between Anders and Fenris. Hawke was finally clean of grime and blood, and Fenris started combing through Hawke’s messy hair while Anders looked over Hawke’s injuries and clucked and fussed. Perhaps they both fussed, but Hawke basked in the attention. 

”Varric told me where you were last.” Fenris said as he tugged at Hawke’s dark strands. “Then I looked for Anders so we could find you.” 

”I’m surprised Fenris found you so quickly.” Anders added. He spread a thick looking salve over a few deep scratches along Hawke’s ribs. “How did you know where to meet us?” 

”I didn’t.” Hawke said. “I wanted to protect the Veil. Keep the fear demon out and let the Inquisitor escape with Stroud and Varric and the others.” 

”Martyr.” Fenris grumbled. He tugged on Hawke’s hair again, and Hawke winced. 

”I may have had help.” Hawke added. “Not everything in the Fade is a demon. And the Fade changes. I stayed where I needed to to keep that demon in the Fade. Maybe the Fade shifted so I could be where you two would find me.” 

”There. All patched up.” Anders murmured, and he gave Hawke an affectionate look. Then he looked over Hawke and gave Fenris that same tender expression with a gentle smile and soft eyes that Fenris hesitantly returned. Anders still cared for him, even with Hawke here. Fenris wondered what to make of it. He didn’t dare hope for more, but he hoped. He hoped even though he felt greedy for hoping so much. 

”You two finally worked together.” Hawke murmured. “I wouldn’t believe it, if I wasn’t here right now.” 

”We needed each other.” Fenris said automatically. He had not realized how much he needed Anders until he lost Hawke. Now Fenris wondered if he could ever go back. Hawke had picked Anders, and Anders loved Hawke first. He did not know if he could bear being alone again. He did not want to be lost anymore. 

”Fenris found me as soon as he could.” Anders said. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Fenris, the clever bastard.” He smiled as he said those words, a private smile for Fenris alone. Fenris felt his face grow warm, and he tried to hide his pleased expression behind his loose hair. 

A slow realization dawned in Hawke’s eyes, and as it grew a sly smile overtook his face. 

”What sort of business have you two been up to while I’ve been away?” He teased. Fenris turned an even brighter red and dropped his hands to lap, but Anders laughed and planted a kiss on Hawke’s cheek before reaching over and taking one of Fenris’s hands in his own. 

”So I may have fallen in love with Fenris while crossing Orlais to find you.” Anders announced cheerfully. “And as we both happen to have feelings for you as well, I think we can come to an arrangement.” 

”What sort of arrangement did you have in mind, Anders?” Hawke asked. “You have me on Mondays, Fenris on Tuesdays, I get Fenris Wednesdays?” He was joking, but his ever protective arm reached around Fenris’s shoulders and held him close. Comforting. 

”More like sharing.” Anders said lightly. “If Fenris would have us.” 

”I would.” Fenris blurted out, pushing his hair back so it hung behind him like a curtain. “I would, if you would have me.” 

Hawke merely smiled and pulled Fenris close, and Anders crawled over to the other side of Fenris and embraced him. Fenris was surrounded by warmth and comfort and _love_ , and Fenris wondered if he had ever been as loved as he was at this moment. 

”Maker, feels like a dream.” Hawke murmured. His breath ruffled Fenris’s hair. “A damn good dream.” 

”It’s real.” Anders assured him. “I just smeared elfroot salve all over you, you’re going to be sticky and smell like a potion shop for days.” But he tightened his grip on Hawke and Fenris, so he clearly didn’t mind the smell. Fenris didn’t much care either. He was happy, which was a foreign feeling for him. 

”I was clawed up by a demon, you would think I’d get more sympathy!” Hawke protested. “Fenris, protect me!” 

”Sleep, Hawke.” Fenris murmured. “We will move on in the morning.” 

”Where to? Kirkwall isn’t exactly safe, and I’m not throwing myself to the mercy of the Inquisition.” Anders pointed out. “Not even Varric, with all his charm and chest hair, can protect me from the brand.” 

”Anywhere we like.” Fenris replied. “We could go anywhere at all.” 

”No obligations, no one to tell us where to go or what to do.” Hawke sighed and tilted his shaggy head back to stare at the stars. 

”How do you feel about Antiva City, Hawke?” Anders asked slyly, and Fenris rolled his eyes before slapping Anders on the arm. 

”No.” Fenris said sternly. 

”Maker I’ve missed you two.” Hawke said affectionately, pressing a kiss to Anders’s temple and pulling Fenris closer to his side. Fenris let his head drop to Hawke’s shoulder, and he reached out to hold Anders’s hand. Anders grasped it back. 

They were all found again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story! Writing fenhanders was a challenge, as I've never written an OT3 before. I hope this was satisfactory for everyone!


End file.
